Nothing Itself is Enough
by with-etoiles
Summary: Kurt is a better actor than everybody thinks. He cannot feel emotions. He's just really, really good at faking them.


_Fill for a prompt at the glee_angst_meme over on lj. I warn you, it's heartbreaking. I'm sorry!_

A slight pressure bobbed over Kurt's thumb rhythmically, warm flesh adjacent to his.

In fact, there was really an entire body adjacent to his, looking up at him with eyes filled with expectation and promise and hope, all those warm, rosy things that seemed to keep people going. The boy kept stroking his thumb over Kurt's, a gesture that Kurt knew to be construed as comforting.

But Kurt sighed internally, meeting his eyes and matching the boy's next to him. Blaine's eyes were hazel, always everchanging from green to a deep brown back to the same meadowy green. When Blaine felt in love, his pupils dilated, his eyes became an even deeper chocolate. Sometimes a cloudy mist would creep over his eyes, assumedly a thin layer of tears filtering his vision. Somewhere deep in his brain Kurt summoned a brilliancy into his eyes and held contact, _one Mississippi… two Mississippi… three Mississippi, _and then shyly averted his eyes. Blaine's laugh, low and amorous, ringed right on time to tell Kurt he had done it right.

He didn't like deceiving people; he didn't ask to be born like this, as if somehow his heart had been driven out of him when he was a child. He didn't want to have this uncanny ability to observe and interact without feeling a single thing; it was such a nonsensical thing to have. Why did he not possess the same uncanny optimism Blaine had? Why was not he not able to experience his heart being in his throat, his heart thrumming to a hummingbird's beat, his heart leaping out his chest? When they kissed, Kurt could feel Blaine's smile against his lips, could feel the way his pulse jumped when Kurt caught his eye. He had felt Blaine's skin against his at night, smooth and steady, while his had been cold and indistinct. Like his skin was nothing but an indistinct layer of static against Blaine's blanket of warmth.

People crowded around him in neighboring booths, orders jumping out to his sensitive ears. Cheesecake… salad… chicken fingers… _chicken fingers, I didn't think they served them here._

Rachel kept a steady stream of talk in front of him, harping excitedly to Finn about New York and Broadway and her huge dreams, until she hit the road block of NYADA. Her lips curled into a pout and she squeezed Finn's arm.

"It's been my dream; it's my ray of hope for my small existence in this huge world, and I want to be a part of it so much but I can't be here, and it seems like NYADA is my only hope now and I don't even know if that's happening. And that breaks my heart Finn."

Finn nodded. Kurt noticed the way his face softened, something Kurt had learned to do over the years to account for what he was lacking. Kurt could recognize the signs of love, he could imitate them and analyze them; he just couldn't ever _mean_ them.

"Don't you agree, Kurt?" She turned around and smiled, undoubtedly thinking of the mutual understanding of their "passion" for New York, for the glamour and glitz and the lights.

Kurt nodded.

"If NYADA has any sense, they'd accept me before I'm accepted to some better school and _they_ are forced to accept that the let the great Kurt Hummel pass them by, and they'd really regret it."

Rachel grinned and nodded, extending a hand towards Kurt. He slapped it, laughing high and strong. Blaine squeezed his arm when he settled back into his seat, concentrating on stringing his mouth up into a tight smile, squeezed up into his face but in a happy way. People seemed to love when he smiled like that anyways.

In truth, Kurt didn't care either way or the other if he got into NYADA. He had built this entire world around his emptiness, but somehow it was stable and strong where he could not be. Sure, it was a world of deceptions and tricks… like how Blaine's hand against his was a lie… like how Rachel's encouraging smile was a farce… like how Finn's reassuring nod was a mirage… like how every physical touch and emotional bond he had created had been forged through his fraudulence, his denigrations, the emotions he had weaved for himself to replace where he had none…. but it was a world that he could survive in. He had made his place here, as bare as it was, and maybe New York had a gloss and hope to it he couldn't deny, but this was where he was, and this was where he'd always been. New York might change that, but if it didn't his life wouldn't end.

_Really_, he thought,_ when had it ever started?_


End file.
